


Steadfast

by farad



Series: Perceptions [2]
Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the awesome prompts 'Chris/Vin, Old West, Gold rush' (Tarlanx) and 'Ezra/Vin/Chris, being the mediator is hard work' (Huntersglenn).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steadfast

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Dail, JoJo, and Delphi for all the help - and it was quite a bit, in concept as well as grammar! All mistakes my very own. Special thanks to JoJo for the name of this universe – "Perceptions".

“ _Wealth stays with us a little moment if at all: only our characters are steadfast, not our_ _gold_ _.”_ \- Euripedes

 

 

"Dakota?" Chris sat back in his chair, staring across the table at Ezra. "You're thinking about going - "

 

"Keep your voice down!" Ezra said, waving a hand at him at the same time that he looked around the darkened saloon. "Do you want every yahoo here to join us?"

 

Chris glanced around and shook his head. It was just after the midday crowd and the place was mostly empty. "There ain't no 'us' in this, Ezra – I got no intention of heading off to Dakota Territory. What in the hell do you want to go there for?"

 

Ezra leaned in closer yet. "Gold," he whispered, staring into Chris' eyes.

 

Chris couldn't stop himself. The laugh was out of his mouth, refusing to believe that Ezra was serious.

 

But Ezra was. His eyes narrowed and he glared at Chris. He jerked back, throwing himself against the back of the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "I have it on good authority that there is gold in the Black Hills," he said sharply though still quiet. "I advise you to consider your opportunity. It won't come along again."

 

Chris sighed. "Have you been to the Black Hills?" he asked, trying for a different approach. "Do you have any idea what it's like?"

 

Ezra's nostrils flared as he said, "I don't imagine that it can be any worse than here. Except that it has gold."

 

Chris looked at him, debating what to say. Eventually, he shook his head. "You do what you want," he said softly. "But I got no interest in it."

 

Ezra lifted his chin, as if Chris were issuing a challenge. "Perhaps," he said, his tone hard. "But I suspect Mr. Tanner might. After all, 'his people' are there."

 

Chris clenched his jaw, his teeth grating against each other. It was difficult to talk, but he managed. "They ain't 'his people'. 'His people' are here in the west, not all the way up there, close to Canada."

 

Ezra shrugged, his crossed arms moving against his chest as he did. "Indians are Indians," he said. "Vin will be able to talk to any of them, and I suspect he can convince them of our plan - "

 

"Vin ain't going to," Chris cut him off, leaning forward. "Are you that blinded by the glitter in the sand?"

 

Ezra uncrossed his arms and slapped his hands against the table as a prelude to standing up. "Perhaps, it's you, Mr. Larabee, who are blinded by the glitter in those pretty blue eyes?" he hissed. "He is not the saint you seem to think him. He's not reluctant to find wealth, and he's not reluctant to use his knowledge of the natives to his advantage – and that of his friends." He emphasized the last word, then he turned on his heel and strolled away from the table, the heels of his polished boots thumping on the hard floor of the saloon.

 

Chris watched him go, wondering if they were talking about the same man. Wondering if they were even talking about the same thing. With Ezra, it seemed, sometimes, like they were from two different places.

 

And like Vin was a stranger to him, even though he knew better.

 

*&*&*&*&*

 

It was late – early, really, a time of the morning that Ezra knew but rarely saw awake, not unless it had been a particularly lucrative evening. The lamp was low, close to sputtering; he'd turned it down hours ago, when they'd first entered the room. Not because he wanted darkness; if anything, he'd have wanted this in the daylight, with sun streaming in every window, the curtains thrown wide to brighten it as much as possible.

 

But discretion was necessary. What they did was not viewed kindly in the eyes of society, and he didn't wish to suffer the 'slings and arrows' of talk – or the hangman's noose of judicial disapproval.

 

So he'd turned the lamp down as low as he could, leaving enough light to see what he could: the dark bronze skin of someone who labored in the daylight, the glint of auburn in the long hair that had been sun-bleached to varying shades of brown. The long legs and lean lines of a man who worked hard for a living.

 

The puckered scars of a life spent on the wrong side of someone else's wallet.

 

"You told him what?" The voice was low and amused, raspy from what they'd just been up to.

 

Ezra rolled onto his side, staring into the clear blue eyes that reminded him of the most valuable marbles he'd had as a boy, bright and unmarred by scratches or striations or even the faintest flaw. "You will come with me," he repeated, slower this time. "It's Indian land, at least for the moment. But you know the Army – hell, Vin, you know the government. They'll take it away from the poor innocents unless someone is there to help negotiate the best deal for them. And aren't you family to them?"

 

Vin drew a deep breath, his bare chest rising under Ezra's hand. It was sweaty but cooling, the dampness no longer thick enough to make his hand slide. "Ezra," he said simply and slowly. He wasn't irritated – Vin was one of the most patient men Ezra had ever known. But the tone of his voice let Ezra know that whatever he was going to say wasn't going to be what Ezra wanted to hear. "All Indians ain't the same."

 

This again. Ezra wanted to sigh himself – he was tired of hearing this lecture on the differences in these people who all looked the same and who all wanted the same things – and really, wasn't that what mattered? But he needed Vin to help him with this. And more, he wanted Vin to help him. Wanted to show Chris Larabee that he and Vin had something of their own, even if it was different from what Chris had with Ezra, and, as far as Ezra could tell, what Chris had with Vin.

 

Wanted to show Chris Larabee that Ezra Standish was not someone to be trifled with. Wanted to show Chris Larabee that he wasn't always right about people, not even the ones he thought he knew best.

 

He let his fingers slide over Vin's skin, along the hard bone of his sternum. There was a trace of fine hair and he twirled it, liking the way it curled. "So we should allow some of them to be taken advantage of?"

 

Vin chuckled, his chest moving under Ezra's fingers. "You are something," he said, lifting a hand to touch Ezra's cheek. His fingertips were rough, his hands accustomed to manual labor. Ezra was familiar now with them so he didn't flinch at the touch though he still had to force himself to remain still.

 

To distract himself, he said, "Then you agree with me? It is a good idea to go there?"

 

Vin's fingers drifted down and back, trailing along Ezra's neck and shoulder. "Well, there ain't much I can do for the people there. I don't speak those tongues so I can't talk to them. And even if I could, don't reckon they'd see me as a friend. At best, I'd be another white man. At worst, I'd be a white man who sided with their sworn enemies, the Nurmenuh."

 

Ezra blinked, ignoring the tickle of Vin's touch as he asked, "The – who? I thought you lived with the Comanche and the Kiowa."

 

Vin chuckled at that, but his voice was soft as he answered, "That's what the Comanche call themselves. It means 'The People'."

 

Ezra rolled his eyes, annoyed at Vin's amusement and at the complexity of what was supposed to be a simple situation. "Surely this is easy enough," he said, thinking of the gold they should find, the wealth and comfort it would bring them. "We go, we find gold, we become wealthy enough to leave all of this behind." He looked around, not wanting to lift his hand from Vin's chest to wave it. "Why is this so hard for you and Chris to understand?"

 

Vin's hand slid from Ezra's body, leaving a chill in its wake. It settled instead over Ezra's hand, pressing his palm against Vin's ribs. Beneath them, Ezra could feel the steady, strong beat of Vin's heart. "It ain't hard for us to understand," he said in the same gentle tone. "We just don't want to leave all this," he rolled his head on the pillow, "behind."

 

Ezra stared at him, the words not making sense. "This – this is – nonsense," he said, finding the only word that made any sense to him. "With money, we could live anywhere we wanted, have a house – a large house, with horses, and a corral, and men to do the work so that we don't have to - "

 

"You want someone to play cards so you don't have to?" Vin asked, his other hand joining his first on top of Ezra's, trapping it.

 

Ezra opened his mouth and stopped. Of course he didn't – he enjoyed the games, the cards, the con. He'd not trade that. But the parallel, the idea that Chris and Vin wanted to do the things they did – the work – it made no sense.

 

"I know it don't make no sense to you," Vin went on. "Hard for you to understand that for some of us, this is the life we want." He smiled slowly. "Ain't saying that some more money wouldn't be nice, but I ain't ready to give up what I got here to go off on a fool's hunt – yeah, I know you don't think it's a fool's hunt, but I've heard about those gold sightings for years, most of my life. Reckon Chris has too. There are a few people who are lucky, who get a strike, but most of the people who go end up losing everything – not just their stake money, but their families, their lives – hell, mostly, their self respect."

 

How like him, Ezra thought, him and Chris both, to think that self-respect was the most important thing. To think that their sense of who they were was based in doing manual labor, in the damnable idea of 'an honest day's work'.

 

The urge to tell him how stupid he was, to tell him how utterly idiotic it was to think that a man's value was in sweat and dirt and living in poverty was on the tip of his tongue, but before he could say anything, Vin leaned up, his lips finding Ezra's and taking all his words away.

 

It was only later, in the faint dawn, as he woke from the sound of Vin's leaving, the soft click of the door, that the thought came to him fully formed, as if it had risen from his dreams or come to him from the inside of Vin's head as they had slept together, Vin's head resting on his shoulder. The thought was that the way to make the two men understand how good they could have it was to bring it to them – to go out there, find the gold, and come back wealthy enough to give them the ranch house big enough for them all to live in, for Chris to have his horses and Vin to have his wide open space.

 

He would show them what it was worth. What he was worth. If he had to do it alone, he would show them.

 

*&*&*&*&*

 

"Here." Ezra held out his hand toward Chris, his fingers closed with something in them. They were in his room, sitting at the small table before the window. It was a ritual, of sorts, coming here, drinking a glass of whiskey out of his fine crystal glasses, talking about whatever it was Ezra deemed important, before getting down to the business at hand. At first, Chris had found it uncomfortable, as if they were courting or some such. The whores he visited in Purgatorio didn't need this much chatter – but then, he was paying for their time.

 

Now, though, it was nice to sit and drink, let the problems of the day roll away as Ezra talked about nothing, mostly, but doing it in such a way that Chris was always entertained. By the time they got around to what they were getting around to, Chris was more ready and willing than he was when he was with the women, no matter how much they rubbed his back and shoulders or plied him with more whiskey than he wanted.

 

Chris wondered if Ezra was the same with Vin, if Vin sat in this same chair, drinking this fine whiskey out of these cut-crystal glasses, listening to the same chatter. He couldn't imagine it. Vin wasn't a cut-crystal kind of man, and more to the point, Ezra didn't seem the kind to 'waste good whiskey' – or anything else – on someone who didn't appreciate it. Or who he didn't need to – or couldn't – impress.

 

It made him wonder what they did do before getting around to it. Maybe he'd ask one of them. Maybe.

 

"Here," Ezra said again, a little sharper, waving his closed fingers closer to Chris' nose. "Look."

 

Chris held out his hand and watched as Ezra dropped something into it. A lump of something soft and sticky but also gritty. He leaned in, turning the lump near the lamp.

 

"Gold," Ezra said, smiling broadly. "From the Dakota Territory."

 

Chris looked at him then back to the raw gold in his hand.

 

"Mother sent it to me, and I am giving it to you. There's more, whole veins of it." He sat back in his chair, his smile growing even wider, which Chris hadn't thought possible. "We will be rich, Chris, the three of us, rich enough to have everything we want, rich enough to be able to do whatever we want."

 

The nugget wasn't big, but it wasn't small, either. It was, though, from Maude. "Your mother sent this to you?" he asked, looking once more at Ezra.

 

Ezra reached for the whiskey, refilling his glass and topping off Chris'. "When I was a boy, I was captivated by the 49ers. I would get up every morning and rush out to find a newspaper, so that I could read about the latest strikes, the discovery of gold. I invested in panning equipment, going to the stream in the back of the house where we lived then, spending hours practicing the art so that I would be able to pan for gold, once we arrived." He looked out the window, sipping from his glass, and Chris caught a glimpse of the boy he must have been. "Later, when they found the second strikes in the north, I bought a map and plotted all the various routes that would get us there. I used to talk to Mother for hours about it – and at one point, she was even ready to invest in the adventure herself."

 

His smile slipped, then, and Chris hesitated, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity. It was rare to have Ezra talk about his past, and more rare to have him talk about his past with Maude. "What happened?"

 

"What – oh," Ezra said, coming back to himself. He looked into his drink know, swirling it in the glass. The lamplight caught in the amber liquid, casting the room in patterns of yellow, orange, and, every now and then, a flash of gold. "She remarried – husband number three, if I recall correctly. He was loath to part with her at the time, poor man." He lifted the glass to his lips, drank, and then, as he lowered it, went on. "Several years later, after one of our many disagreements, I packed up my panning gear and got my map, and I started off on my own. I made it as far as New Orleans, where a friend of Mother's discovered me. At that point, Mother had decided that she wasn't any happier with this husband than the first ones and she joined me – with a substantial divorce settlement, of course."

 

"Of course," Chris smiled, amused as always at Ezra's way of describing things. "And so the two of your stayed in New Orleans. You never got to California?"

 

"New Orleans does have its own riches," Ezra acknowledged. He leaned forward, lifting one hand to touch the gold nugget that still lay in Chris' palm. "Now, though, I can try again, in earnest."

 

Chris watched as Ezra rolled the nugget against Chris' palm; it was cool and a little slick, sliding against his skin. It left a mark in its wake, dark smudges that sparkled in places. It reminded him of Maude, glitter in the midst of darkness. "Ezra," he said, staring at his open hand, "you've told me yourself that you don't usually believe what Maude tells you. Why are you so sure of her now?"

 

Ezra's fingertip tickled as it traced the smudge lightly along Chris' palm, and then past it, trailing slowly along his fingers. "Two reasons, really. First of all, she knows how much I want this, to be part of a gold rush. She wants it, too. It was one of the first things we shared, one of the things that we talked about, planned about. When things were at their worst – when we were on the run, or hiding away from people, or, worst, when we barely had enough money to survive, we would sit close together, sharing a blanket and a cup of hot brandy, and we would talk about the next strike – where it would be, what we would have to do to get there, what sort of questing we would do, whether we would buy land and dig for a vein or whether we would pan a stream, pulling out nuggets." He smiled, his fingertip still tracing back and forth over Chris' palm, the tickle growing into an itch, but one that slipped into his blood, traveling through his arm and chest, into his belly.

 

And lower.

 

"The other reason?" Chris asked, though it took more effort than he expected, his tongue thickening along with his cock.

 

"Because she is working a con of her own. The gentleman who found this gold is, I believe, courting my mother, under the belief that she is amenable to marriage, and that she will provide him with an estate and European title."

 

Chris snorted, but even his amusement was distracted. Ezra's finger was stroking down over his wrist and along the skin of his arm. It was as if he were in a lightning storm, the tingle in his arm connecting directly to his groin. Suddenly, it didn't matter at all about Maude or gold or Dakota – all that mattered was what he and Ezra were getting up to. He leaned forward, using his hand to cup Ezra's chin. Ezra looked up just in time for their mouths to meet.

 

They could talk about nonsense tomorrow.

 

*&*&*&*&*&*&

 

"I think we should leave soon – soon as possible, by the weekend."

 

Chris didn't look up from the rifle he was cleaning. It had been a pleasant morning so far, most of it spent alone in the sheriff's office. The one prisoner was passed out in the cell, his loud snoring the only obstruction in an otherwise peaceful world.

 

Until Ezra had come in a while ago, helping himself to coffee before settling down to read the paper. His feet were propped up on the corner of the desk where Chris was working. He ignored the comment, hoping that if he did, Ezra would shut up about it.

 

It had never worked before, though, and he wasn't sure why he expected this time to be any different. If anything, ignoring Ezra just made him more determined.

 

"I expect you will need to notify the Judge that we are terminating our employment, though the town should be safe enough with the other four. Or you and I could go ahead, and Mr. Tanner could stay here until such time as he feels it's safe - "

 

He hadn't meant to answer; he'd been keeping in mind what Ezra had told him last night, about Maude and the dream, the childhood fantasy. But this was going far enough - too far, if Ezra seriously thought he was going to make Chris choose between the two of them.

 

"Nope," he said flatly, and it all came out, just as it always did when it was Ezra. "I don't run out on the people I care about – try not to, anyway."

 

Ezra straightened in the chair, his feet coming off the desk to land with a thud on the rough wood floor. His voice was as smooth and even as it had been before, but the stiffness in his shoulders and back let Chris know that he was angry. "Run out?" he said. "I assure you, I am not running out - "

 

"You're going off to chase a dream," he went on, his anger building. "Willing to leave behind everything you have here, on the small chance that you might find enough gold to be rich – only there's never gonna be enough gold to make you happy. You might find the biggest strike that there is, enough gold to supply the whole country, but it won't be enough for you. It's never enough." He shook his head and tossed the rifle onto the desk. Now wasn't the time to have it in his hands, even it was in pieces. 

 

"That's what you think of me?" Ezra said, his voice low, just barely loud enough to carry to where Chris sat. "That I will never be happy with all the money in the world?"

 

Chris looked across the desk, meeting the green eyes he knew so well. He took a deep breath, trying to think despite the anger. He chose his words slowly, and with more care than he had in a damned long time. "Couple of us have offered you everything we've got, things that are worth more than money. If that ain't good enough for you to want to stay, then yeah, I reckon that there ain't enough money in the world for you." The words were hard to say, the thought even harder. But it was true. If the money was the most important thing to Ezra, then nothing he or Vin could do or say was going to keep him. It was up to Ezra.

 

Ezra stared back at him, his eyes flashing but not expression on his face. After a while, he folded the paper with great care and rose to his feet. Without a word, he put the paper under his arm, straightened his hat, and left the office, closing the door with great care behind him.

 

Chris sat, staring at the closed door, until his hands had stopped shaking and he could finish cleaning the rifle. 

 

*&*&*&*&*&*&

 

"The damned fool is still planning to leave." Chris said it flatly, slamming the door to the cabin behind him. He was wearing his long-john shirt and his pants, his holster slung low on his hip. He'd been in town much of the day but he'd ridden back at least a couple of hours ago, long enough to strip down and get dirty. Vin had ridden in a little while ago, taken care of his horse and turned him out into the corral with Chris' and made his way to the cabin.

 

Where Chris had finally joined him. Vin poured fresh coffee from the pot he'd had time to make and handed it over to Chris. The bottle of whiskey was on the table as well as cheese and some fresh bread from Gloria Potter and some fried ham. "Planning, yeah," Vin said, sitting down on the bench at the table. "He thinks he's got to prove to us that he can do it and that it's what we want but we're too damned simple to know it."

 

Chris had the cup on the way to his mouth but he stopped. "What? You think that's true, that he thinks we're too stupid to know - "

 

"Not stupid," Vin interrupted, holding up a hand. "Simple. Uneducated or at least not aware of how easy life could be." He shrugged, setting his own mug on the table. "He ain't like us, Chris, you know that. His dreams have been about money, and how it would set him free from – well, whatever it is that he's afraid of."

 

He watched as Chris leaned against the closed door, sipping at his coffee. He was staring at the table, but Vin knew his mind was miles away. There was an expression on his face that Vin had rarely seen, one that still took him a few seconds to identify. It was so far removed from what he knew and thought of Chris Larabee that it made his stomach turn and his breath catch.

 

He got up, slowly walking the few steps to the other man. He reached out as he went, careful to warn, but Chris still started when Vin's fingers brushed his cheek. Chris didn't resist though, when Vin took the mug from his hand and placed it on the closest corner of the table. Nor did he resist when Vin leaned in close, his hands on Chris' shoulders as his lips brushed against Chris'.

 

They made love slowly, Vin taking the lead though he was the one on his belly. He didn't have to coax after a point, but it was still a different pace for them, and oddly, despite the ease of it, there was more desperation. He could feel it in the way Chris held onto him, the way he tried to drag it out, as if he wanted it to last all night.

 

As if it were the last time.

 

Afterward, as they lay together, Chris' arm over Vin's lower back, his leg twined with Vin's, Vin turned to watch Chris' face. Chris' eyes were closed, his skin flushed pink under the natural golden tan. Stands of hair, dark with sweat, hung over his brow, and Vin had the sense of him as a kid.

 

"He won't leave," Vin said softly. "He just ain't figured out yet that what he's got here is worth a damned sight more than his dreams of gold."

 

Chris' brow crinkled and the corners of his lips turned down. He blinked but didn't open his eyes, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to make this real. "He wants that gold," he said, the words a whisper.

 

"He wants this more," Vin said. "He's just got to be reminded."

 

Chris drew a deep breath but the lines of his face didn't ease and his eyes didn't open. Instead, he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into Vin's shoulder. After a while, the tension in his shoulders eased and his breathing slowed as he faded into sleep. Vin watched him for a while, thinking.

 

Ezra wasn't like them. But in some ways, Vin knew he was more like Ezra than Chris was. And it was going to be up to him to make Ezra see what needed seeing, for Chris and Ezra both.

 

*&*&*&*&*&*

 

"You're all packed up?" Chris asked, leaning against the door frame of Ezra's room, watching as he folded a shirt into a saddlebag. The room was devoid of any sign of Ezra – his wooden box of cuff links and trinkets was off the dresser, his silver-plated comb and brush was gone, his boot rag and brush were no longer on the floor beside the bed. Even his fine cut-crystal was packed away somewhere, though the bottle of whiskey sat on the beside, ready to be added to his saddlebag. The place looked like the rented room that it was, as empty of personality as any of the room's Chris had stayed in. It made his stomach hurt.

 

He hated this idea, hated playing this game, but Vin seemed sure it would work. It was a side of Vin that Chris hadn't seen often, not like this. Not directed against one of their own. It reminded him too much of the games that Ezra himself played, reminding him of Ezra's accusation that Chris didn't know Vin as well as he thought he did.

 

"Inez has agreed to allow me to store my chests in the storage room while I am away," Ezra said, closing the saddle bag over the bottle of whiskey and tying the flap down. "I'm certain she would allow you to do the same, if you did not wish to leave it at your – cottage." He looked up and grinned, amused at his own witticism. No one but Ezra referred to the place as anything other than a 'shack'. "I should be more than willing to delay my plans for a day or so, if you've changed your mind."

 

Chris shook his head, refusing to think any more about the idea. He'd said 'no' the first time and every time since, and between them, he'd wasted more time and effort than he liked to remember reconsidering it. He didn't want to go, didn't believe for one instant that it was anything more than a fool's errand no matter how much gold Maude sent, and no matter how many times Vin explained what they both knew about why Ezra was doing it, it didn't change the fact that Ezra was willing to leave them.

 

No matter how many times Vin told him Ezra would change his mind.

 

"Reckon I'd just be in your way – another way to split that big find," he said as lightly as he could. 

 

Ezra straightened, lifting the saddle bag and draping it over his shoulder. His voice was as smooth and even as it had been before, but the stiffness in his shoulders and back let Chris know that he was still thinking about the conversation in the jail. "I would be more than willing to share the wealth, with you and Mr. Tanner. Despite what you think, there are some compromises I will make."

 

Chris almost bit his tongue to keep from laughing – or maybe crying, he wasn't too sure. This was the closest Ezra had come to admitting any affection for either of them. It made him think that maybe, just maybe, Vin was right.

 

"That's mighty generous of you," he said, looking away. "But I got things need doing here, and people who I made promises to. You probably do better on your own, without anyone to interfere with your plans."

 

Ezra opened his mouth, and Chris knew he was going to argue the point. Vin's words from the morning rang in his head – 'Don't let him make you angry. Treat it lightly, Chris, and he'll think about it more than if you argue with him. He's a damned stubborn fool and the more you make him defend himself, the more he's going to do it.'

 

Before Ezra got the first word out, Chris turned and walked out of the room. If he heard anything else, he might not be able to walk away and keep his mouth shut. 

 

He wasn't surprised to find Vin standing on the boardwalk in front of the saloon, leaning against the railing. He was surprised to find Ezra's horse there, though, tied to the hitching post. He turned at looked at Vin.

 

Vin shrugged. "Quicker he gets going, quicker he'll be back," Vin said. He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes, and Chris wondered what in the hell he'd been thinking, to get himself involved with this and then to drag Vin into it. Damn Ezra and his 'dreams'.

 

Damn him for not appreciating what he had already.

 

The sharp rap of boots on the wooden floor announced Ezra's arrival, just before the doors to the saloon were pushed open. He stepped onto the boardwalk, his hat perfectly in place, the saddlebags still resting over his shoulder. Like Vin, he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

 

"Gentlemen," he said. He glanced to his horse, blinked, then looked at Vin. "How thoughtful," he said after a time, but there was a tension in his voice.

 

Vin shrugged. "Reckon that if you're in such a rush to get away, least I could do was help. Don't want to hold you up on the road to a better life."

 

Ezra looked at him, then at Chris. He took a step closer, brushing up against Vin so that what he said was clear to them both, though very soft. "I am doing this for us – not me, us."

 

Chris looked past him to Vin who met his gaze. Vin shook his head, a slight movement but just enough, so he waited, letting Vin take the lead.

 

"But we don't want it," he said quietly. "We want you."

 

Ezra was looking at Chris, but one of his hands moved slightly to brush against Vin's. "I will be back."

 

"Maybe," Vin said. "Lots out there to get you killed. The Hills are Indian land, and they'll fight hard for it. It's their home. Even if they don't kill you, lot of danger between here and there. Lot of danger when you get there. And even if you ain't killed, when you gonna be back? You think there's gold, but it could take time for you to find it, Ezra, and that's supposing you find it at all. You could be gone for years. Where are we gonna be when you get back? If you get back?"

 

Ezra frowned then, and Chris knew that this was the first time he'd actually thought about this. He tilted his head, picking up the thread of it. "You think we're still gonna be here if you get back? We might have moved on to California – hear they got great horses out there, ranches too. Maybe we should follow your lead and head on to follow our own dreams. What you think, Vin?"

 

Behind Ezra, Vin moved so that he was sitting on the railing, away from Ezra. "Reckon if it's good enough for him, we should do the same thing. Ain't nothing holding us here, less when he's gone."

 

"We could head off to San Francisco or down south toward Mexico," Chris said, trying to sound the way Ezra had every damned time he'd talked about the gold, like it was the only thing that mattered. "We might find us some cheap land, good horses - "

 

"I thought," Ezra interrupted, his voice a little louder now, harder, "that you didn't run out on people you cared about."

 

Chris shrugged, glancing to Vin. "Didn't say I wasn't bringin' them with me, ones who want to come. Most others appear to have already run off."

 

"Yep," Vin agreed. "Give it another couple of years and the town will be big enough to stand on its own. JD will be settled down with Casey, Buck might be settled down himself – or he might want to come with us, never know. Nathan's already looking to settle down with Rain, reckon Josiah's another one could either stay or go, depending on his mood. But we ain't talking about doing it all of a sudden, like. When the time seems right." He grinned at Chris as Ezra straightened even more. "But you don't worry none, Ezra, you got your own plans. Hope they go well – hell, maybe if it does work out the way you want, you'll be back here before we figure out what our own dreams are. Right now, guess we're just happy enough with what we got, happy enough to want to hang on to it."

 

"It is not that I am not happy," Ezra said sharply, and loudly enough to make Chris look around. A couple of women walking along the street turned to look at them, and Chris saw Mary look up from where she was sweeping the boardwalk in front of the Clarion. "It is not that I am not happy," Ezra repeated, more quietly. "But if we could have this - "

 

"If we could have this, it would replace what we have now," Chris said, also quietly. "And at least two of us ain't ready to trade in what we got for the hope of something different. So you go right on along, get it out of your system. We wish you luck." He glanced to Vin. "You helping me with the new porch?"

 

Vin stood up, pushing against Ezra as he did. "Yep, best get on it while the day's still cool enough to work. Hate it when we get all sweaty and dusty – thank goodness the stream ain't dried up yet."

 

"Thank goodness," Chris agreed, smiling as he thought of what Vin really meant – how nice the cool water was and how good it felt to press up against someone in it. "Be careful, Ezra. Write when you can."

 

"Watch out for the snakes," Vin added as he walked past Ezra to join Chris. "Hear that in the Hills, they sometimes dig down into the dirt to sleep. They don't take kindly to being awakened." He took the first step away from Ezra, his words drawing Chris along. "We need more nails? I think we used the last of the long ones on the corral – you want me to pick up some while you get the horses ready?"

 

Chris followed in his wake, aware that behind him, Ezra had not moved. "Yeah, sounds good," he agreed, and he almost hoped. Until he heard the hard thud of Ezra's boots on the boardwalk, and the low mutter as he spoke to his horse.

 

His stomach fell as Ezra rode past them, his back straight and his hat set perfectly. He didn't turn to look at them as he pushed the horse to an easy canter, heading out of town.

 

"Nightfall," Vin said, his voice soft. "Don't you worry."

 

But Chris did. He tried not to think about it, throwing himself into the hard work of laying the floor of the porch, leveling it out, then measuring and cutting the timbers they'd need to frame the support for the roof. Vin worked just as hard, as if he, too, were worried that he was wrong – and maybe he was.

 

They stopped for lunch, when the heat of the day was at its worst. Neither of them talked much, but as Vin wrapped the bread in its wax paper, Chris found himself asking something that had been on his mind as of late. "You won't especially miss him if he's gone, will you."

 

Vin looked up, his face scrunching as he frowned. "Reckon I will," he said slowly, tilting his head as if trying to get a different line of sight on the question.

 

Chris drew a breath, wondering whether he wanted to make his question more clear. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

 

As if the tilting of his head had worked, Vin's face cleared. He stood up, stepping over to stand in front of Chris' chair. "I might not miss him as much as you," he said, his voice slow and even. "But I'll miss him. And worse, I'll miss you being as happy as I've ever seen you." He reached out a hand, the tips of his fingers barely brushing Chris' cheek. Then he nodded once and stepped back, looking over his shoulder to where they were working. "Best get back to it. It ain't gonna build itself."

 

Chris watched him walk away, knowing that that was the end of it as far as Vin was concerned. It wasn't clear in his own head what Vin had meant, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to ask any thing else on the subject, not now.

 

They set back to it, working as the sun fell low in the sky. Chris kept at it while Vin took care of feeding and watering the horses, opening up the barn for them for the night.

 

"We can get the roof tomorrow," Vin said as he stood, watching as Chris drove the last nail into the frame. "Need to ride into town to get more boards."

 

Chris nodded, putting his hammer down and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He took the ladle of water that Vin held out to him, drinking it down and enjoying the feel of the stream that spilled out, splattering against his chest.

 

"Wash up?" Vin suggested, tilting his head toward the side of the cabin and the stream that ran along the base of the hill. "Make us feel better."

 

Chris doubted that. It wasn't going to help in the way he wanted it to, but he nodded nonetheless, pulling off his long-john shirt and scrubbing it through his sweaty hair.

 

As they started down the hill, Vin pushing off his galluses and pulling up his own shirt, they heard the heavy footsteps of a horse coming in. Chris had his gun out and was turned toward the sound, braced for trouble. Until he recognized the rider.

 

"Thought you'd be on the other side of Eagle Bend by now," Vin said easily. He was already putting his mare's leg away, and as soon as it was secure, he reached down to untie the leather strap that held it to his thigh. "Get lost?"

 

"I thought you'd already be washing away the day's work," Ezra countered, slowing his horse as he came along side them. "Lose track of time while enjoying your labor?"

 

Vin looked up at him and grinned as he unbuckled the belt of his holster. "Nope, just waiting for you. Always more fun to have you helping with a good wash."

 

Ezra grinned back, his gold tooth flashing in the fading light. "Well, someone surely needs to. It is hard for me to understand how you get dirt into some of the places that you do." He dismounted, catching his horse's reins then looking to Chris.

 

Chris didn't give him time to ask, or even find the words for it. "Turn your damned horse out," he said, putting his revolver away. "We'll be waiting for you."

 

"That wasn't what you said earlier," Ezra said, looking from Chris to Vin and back.

 

Chris grinned this time, finding himself amused at Ezra's snit. "Ain't no rumors of gold in my barn," he said. "Reckon you won't get lost trying to find any."

 

Ezra shook his head, and for a second, his jaw clenched, as if he was angry.

 

"You stayin'?" Vin asked, his tone no longer easy. There was something in it now, something strange and careful, something like fear.

 

Ezra must have heard it too; he looked at Vin, and the anger bled out of his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to answer, but no words came out. So instead, he simply nodded, once, then he turned and walked toward the barn, drawing his horse behind him.

 

They watched him go, then Chris walked over to catch Vin's shoulder, turning him toward the stream. "I could tell him about the gold nugget you found here," he whispered, leaning in close to Vin's ear.

 

Vin shook his head, his hair tickling Chris' nose. "Don't want him to stay for that," he said. "Right now, he's staying for the right reasons."

 

"He is," Chris answered, and for the first time in days, he felt light. Vin had been right, something that felt good – despite the fact that it meant Chris had been wrong. In this matter, though, he was glad. "He's staying for the fine bathing facilities," he said, looking at Vin's bare chest, which was streaked with sweat and dirt and looked downright wonderful.

 

Vin laughed then, a sound that Chris hadn't heard for a while. He joined in, and they were still laughing as they sat down to tug off their boots, waiting for Ezra to join them.

 


End file.
